Then she staggered, knees buckling and eyes turning back up into her head for an instant. The world turned gray and light shrank to a point. Hands grabbed her under the arms, supporting her as she wheezed and fought for breath.
"Anyone got any candy left?" she croaked.
Someone did, giving it up without question; she stuffed it into her mouth despite the salt blood on her hands, washed it down with water and felt the dizziness recede, and the grayness fade from the edges of her sight.
"I'm all right," she husked. "I'm all right."
The men supporting her stepped back. One of them was Dennis; his ax was bloody, and more was splashed across his face and body, but the fear in his eyes was directed at her.
She shook herself. "I feel… I feel like a flute that Someone was playing on."
"Jesu- I mean, God and Goddess, Juney, that was the scariest fucking thing I've ever seen!"
He shook his head, leaning on his ax and panting like a great wheezing bellows for a second.
"What happened? First it was like you were screaming right in my ear-or inside my head-and then you were like the original whirling Dervish, you were a blur. I didn't even think about anything else except following you and hacking these guys up."
She felt her everyday self return, and with it a sharp twist of nausea at the sights and smells about her, and held up a hand palm out while she struggled back to self-command.
Before the Change, this would have sent me catatonic, she thought. Now it just sickens me. Goddess, let me never see such things without sorrow. Let me never see such things again, please.
Dennis was still staring at her. She answered his question: "Well, there's a rational explanation for what happened, Dennie."
"Shit, I hope so, Juney."
She nodded: "Hysterical strength, amok, berserkergang; it's all a well-known phenomenon, right there in the textbooks. There weren't any miracles, were there? I didn't glow red, or levitate, or cast thunderbolts, after all. Although. this is the sort of thing that gets legends and myths started."
"Ah," he said, looking relieved. His face relaxed. "You think that's what happened? Your subconscious took over?"
"Oh, no, Dennie, you don't get off that easy-and neither do I," she said, looking into his eyes.
He retreated a little as she went on: "What I think- know-is that I called on the Dark Goddess… and She came to me. It isn't all light and love and laughter, my friend. There's blood and fear and death and wickedness in the world, and the Mighty Ones act through us."
She reached out and touched the pentagram-and-circle amulet he'd taken to wearing. "And if this is more than a piece of jewelry, you've picked which explanation you want to believe, haven't you?"
"Yeah," he said soberly. "I suppose I have."
Chuck came up to her. "One dead of ours," he said, his eyes avoiding hers a little. "John Carson. A couple of wounded, but… mostly it was over by the time we reached the road. Judy and Dr. Gianelli are getting to work. They think the clan won't lose anyone else."
"Blessed be," she said sadly. "But it could have been worse." She looked around, letting her eyes fall out of focus a little to miss detail. "Was worse, for them."
Aylward paused in recovering arrows and spoke with a surgeon's calmness: "It's like that, with surprise. Especially if the side surprised just gets the wind up and sods off regardless. They can't run and fight, but you can chase and kill at the same time."
She nodded. "Find out how the Sutterdown people did, Chuck," she said. "Get me Sheriff Laughton, if he's alive and fit to move."
When he showed up a few minutes later Laughton had a bandage covering half his face, but he seemed to be coherent enough; a dozen of his townsmen came with him, some of them bandaged or limping.
"Lady Juniper," he said. This time there was no awkwardness to the title. "Thank you. Thank you all from the bottom of our hearts. We'll get our homes back, now."
"You will," Juniper said. "And you'll be able to feed your children through the winter."
Which are the only reasons good enough for this vileness, she thought.
"We had thirty wounded and… nine dead," Laughton went on. He swallowed. "Including Reverend Dixon."
Her brows went up. "Dixon?" she said. "How?"
"He just. died. He just dropped down and died," Laughton said.
Well, he was a coronary waiting to happen, Juniper thought. Plenty of stress today to set it off.
"He'll be missed," she said soberly, and fought not to think: But not by many.
Then she saw the eyes of his men on her, all wide and fearful and a few of them full of the beginnings of adoration. The echo of a cold wind seemed to blow up her back, despite the hot sun and the sweat-dripping weight of mail and padding.
This is how legends and myths start, she reminded herself, and shivered ever so slightly. Goddess gentle and strong, powerful God, what is it that You want of me?
"Well, we'll have to see to the wounded," she said, dragging herself back to practicalities.
Her voice gained strength. "And to getting your families back to your homes, and we Mackenzies will pitch in to help get the rest of your crops in safe-we don't have anything to waste. And then we'll talk about making sure we're not caught by surprise like this again, and with all the other communities around here about defense. The man who set this on us, the one who calls himself Protector… "
"Yes, Lady," Laughton said.
Ray and Cynthia were kneeling by their father's body when she found them. A crossbow bolt had struck him just left of the breastbone, sinking in through the armor until only the fletching showed. There was a spray of blood beside his mouth, but the wide eyes looked surprised, as if it had been very quick. The flies were already coming, but they had plenty to feed on today.
Cynthia started to rise. Juniper sank down on her knees on the hot pavement between them, pressing a hand gently on the girl's shoulder and on her brother's. He looked stunned, unbelieving, his face much younger than the body beneath his warrior's gear, blinking his eyes at his father as the bloody work of cleanup went on around them. A seeping bandage marked where the little finger of his left hand had been, but he ignored that too.
"S-sorry, Lady Juniper," Cynthia said. "We should help-"
"You should both stay here and mourn your father," Juniper said quietly. "There's hands enough to do what needs doing."
The girl's face crumpled, turning red. "He… he shouldn't have died like this!" she cried.
"No," Juniper agreed. "He shouldn't. He was a good man, who only wanted to tend his fields and do right by his family and neighbors. There were years yet of work and joy ahead for him. He should have died old and tired and ready for the Summerlands, with you and your brother and your children around him to bid him farewell. He gave all that up, for us."
"I'm sorry," Cynthia said, putting the heels of her hands to her forehead. "Can… can we have a rite for him?"
"Certainly we can among ourselves, honey," Juniper said gently. "But he respected your choice; you have to respect his. We'll get the ritual he'd have wanted for his burial. Just let it go, for now. Mourn him, girl, and you too, Ray. Cry. Scream if it helps. There's no way around the pain, you have to go through it to the end and beyond. Blessed be."
She left them sobbing in each other's arms; Eilir was coming, riding a horse and leading another for her mother, her eyes wide with horror as she looked about.